


but not as you knew him

by darkpilot_trash



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Dubious Consent, Forced Enjoyment, M/M, Mind Control, Mind Manipulation, Mind Rape, Obsessive Behavior, Past Relationship(s), Possessive Behavior, Rape/Non-con Elements, Riding, Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-22
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-15 11:26:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,871
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5783617
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkpilot_trash/pseuds/darkpilot_trash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The first thing Kylo Ren thinks when he walks into the cell and sees his prisoner slumped against his restraints is: <i>he looks older</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	but not as you knew him

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/1082.html?thread=385082#cmt385082) at the [TFA Kinkmeme](http://tfa-kink.dreamwidth.org/). This is... yeah. This is basically the fic I desperately wanted to read after the movie came out, but apparently it didn't take long for me to give in and write it myself. 
> 
> Please mind the warnings and I hope you guys enjoy the story. <3 If you're interested in joining me on tumblr, [please feel free](http://darkpilot-trash.tumblr.com).

\--

The first thing Kylo Ren thinks when he walks into the cell and sees his prisoner slumped against his restraints is: _he looks older_.

It’s an idiotic sentiment, of course. He hasn’t seen Poe Dameron for fifteen years; of course he’s aged. They both have. Everything about Poe has filled out almost imperceptibly, all the little changes that happen during the shift from _boy_ to _man_ played out clearly on his slackened face. His shoulders are broader than Kylo remembers, his jawline stronger.

It’s still him, though. That hair and that mouth and the curve of his nose, his body all wrapped up in a worn-looking brown jacket so similar to what he used to wear when he was off-duty.

He’s far cry from the fresh-faced young pilot that lives in his memories, but it hardly matters: Kylo thinks he would’ve recognized Poe Dameron anywhere.

He lingers for a few moments after the doors slide closed behind him, takes advantage of the fact that Poe’s eyes are closed to greedily drink in the sight of him. There’s only so long this can go on before Poe realizes there’s someone in the room with him, and Kylo wants to be the one to break that silence – but for now there’s no harm in looking. He drags his eyes over Poe’s thick lashes, the rounded curve of his nose.

The thin trickle of blood running down the side of his temple.

It’s different like this than it was down on Jakku, blasters firing everywhere and fires blazing in the darkness all around them. There had been too much confusion to properly take him in, Kylo himself too thrown by the unexpected appearance of this face from his past to react accordingly. To truly process what it meant to have this particular man kneeling at his feet.

Now, though…

Now he has _Poe Dameron_ on his ship, in his _interrogation cell_. Restrained and subdued and utterly helpless. The golden boy of the Resistance – and the subject of his own teenaged fascination all those years ago.

And now Kylo Ren has him in the palm of his hand.

He senses a hint of movement from the interrogation chair; the flutter of an eyelash, the twitch of a finger, and Kylo mentally berates himself for standing here and dithering. For reminiscing over a past he rejected years ago.

The map is what’s important and the current objective is what matters, and the moment he forgets that is the moment he is lost.

 _Sentiment_ , Kylo thinks contemptuously, shoving the thoughts violently out of his own head. He takes a brief moment to centre himself, takes a few silent steps forward and allows long-buried resentment to settle heavily in the pit of his stomach.  Embraces the old anger as it rises to the surface. It feels good, familiar.

It makes him stronger.

By the time Kylo speaks, any hesitancy is replaced by dispassionate focus.

“I had no idea we had the best pilot in the Resistance on board,” he says coolly, the words sounding good to his own ears. The helmet helps to disguise any hint of treacherous uncertainty with subtle menace, and Kylo stares intently at the way Poe tenses up the instant he starts talking. 

The statement itself is technically accurate. When Kylo last saw Poe Dameron he had been nothing more than one of many young pilots-in-training; _following in my mother’s footsteps_ he used to tell people with that crooked smile on his face. He’d had natural aptitude back then, it was true – but the news that Poe had ascended to such a lofty position within the ranks of the Resistance had been genuine news to him.  

In front of him Poe is already moving, wrenching his eyes all the way open as he pulls himself up into something of a sitting position. He leans forward pointedly in his restraints, glaring at him with quiet intensity from across the room. The light directly above his head throws heavy shadows across his face, his features twisted up in an expression of utter contempt.

“Comfortable?” Kylo asks in response to his silence, refusing to admit even to himself that he finds Poe’s steadfast composure even the slightest bit unnerving.

He doesn’t expect a response, but Poe gives him one anyways.  

“Not really,” Poe replies, his voice quiet but unflinching. He narrows his eyes, stares right at Kylo with a profoundly disdainful look in his eyes. With bitter hatred curling at the corner of his lips.

There’s something about the way he says it – controlled but flippant, the way the coldness of his voice juxtaposes against the almost _personal_ derision burning in his eyes – that makes Kylo abruptly wonder whether or not Poe knows who he is. Whether he’s been let in on the secret of the man behind the mask, or whether that particular piece of information is well above his paygrade.

There’s blood on his face but Poe is still holding his head high, still composed despite the hours of interrogation that Kylo knows he’s just endured.

(He’d ordered it himself, after all – _make him hurt, but no permanent damage_ barked out at a group of Stormtroopers as he swept down the hallway towards a debriefing with General Hux, hating the way his stomach churned and twisted at the knowledge of exactly _who_ he was leaving behind in that cell.)

He decides to focus on Poe’s composure rather than what he may or may not know, has to remind himself again that this interrogation isn’t about him or his past.

“I’m impressed,” says Kylo in a low voice, taking a few slow steps towards the chair. It’s half real intent to intimidate and half imitating himself, trying to replicate the way he would normally act in a situation like this. He hates feeling off-balance like this, and he closes his eyes for a second because he knows Poe can’t see; carefully draws on the anger that’s always simmering just below the surface of his skin. Lets the rage flow through his veins like some kind of drug, and when Kylo opens his eyes a moment later he can _feel_ the power shuddering beneath his words. “No one has been able to get out of you what you did with the map.”

“You might want to rethink your technique,” Poe replies without missing a beat, eyebrows raised as he tilts his chin up in a subtle show of defiance. He is calm and controlled in his bravery, his eyes never leaving Kylo’s helmet.

It’s a taunt, a _dismissal_ – and Kylo Ren’s blood boils.

 _How dare you speak to me like that?_ Kylo thinks viciously, his face twisting up into an unseen sneer of humiliated outrage, because the thought of being dismissed by Poe Dameron again is so intolerable he can barely think straight.

This man is nothing. He’s _nothing_ , has never been of the slightest significance even in the days when Kylo was too young and foolish to realize that, and he can’t – he can’t be _permitted_ to –

_Not now, not again, not like **this** –_

In one swift movement, Kylo raises one hand with outstretched fingers towards Poe’s face.

It’s easy to channel that half-forgotten rage into _power_ , to let the Force surge out and grab at his prisoner’s mind with almost violent speed. Kylo can sense the _instant_ he has Poe Dameron’s mind ensnared with his own, feels the energy between them strain and shudder and fall still all within the span of a heartbeat.

There’s a euphoric rush of power that comes with holding Poe’s mind – his _essence_ – in the palm of his hand, a shiver of exhilaration at the _control_ that comes with it. 

Poe looks uncertain at first, furrowing his dark brows in delicious confusion as he stares uncomprehendingly for a long second at Kylo’s hand. The moment drags, hangs between them as real and visceral as the connection between their minds.

He can sense the exact moment Poe realizes what’s happening to him, a sudden burst of frightened understanding like an animal the split second after it’s caught in a trap. Poe flinches, lets out a choked breath as Kylo uses the Force to physically draw him closer. When Poe drags in a second choked breath Kylo can feel the raw panic as it flares to life inside of him, can practically _taste_ it on his tongue, enough to make him shiver as a hot rush of pleasure rolls over him.

Having Poe Dameron helpless and frightened and _at his mercy_ is the single most intoxicating thing that Kylo Ren has ever experienced, and he only holds back for a few seconds before _slamming_ him back against his restraints with a sharp burst of Force energy mingled with pure _pain_.

The back of Poe’s head snaps back against the headrest with a loud _crack_ , forcing the breath from his lungs and leaving him with his neck on gorgeous display. He squeezes his eyes shut, half-shuddering and half-whimpering as Kylo forces pain through his body in unrelenting waves.

He keeps staring down at Poe as he does it, eyes intently taking in every shudder and gasp. He can’t help it, though: he’s utterly captivated by the thrill of _making_ Poe Dameron feel something so intensely, of forcing him to endure this kind of pain. 

It’s an unbelievable rush to have this kind of control over this man in particular, too many contradictory thoughts and youthful fantasies surging to the forefront of his mind in a way that hasn’t happened since he turned to the dark side. _Want him_ and _want to hurt him_ twist in Kylo’s mind until he can’t separate the two from each other, until he can’t tell which one he wants most.

The too-bright light in the middle of the room makes Poe’s bronze skin look washed-out and pale as he writhes under Kylo’s hand, the muscles in his neck tense and straining under the continual assault.

He’s beautiful. Has always been beautiful, but there is a kind of beauty in having the freedom to hurt something you cherish that Kylo Ren has never truly appreciated until this moment.

“Where is it?” Kylo asks in a short burst, forces the words out because the _noises_ Poe is making are almost too much for him to stand. Groaning gasps and shuddering breaths as he grits his teeth against the pain, and Kylo wants him to keep making those sounds.

He focuses hard, makes the pain intensify as he starts carding invisible fingers along the edges of Poe’s thoughts, just the barest hint of what’s to come once he’s sated himself on Poe’s suffering. Once he’s punished him sufficiently for humiliating him all those years ago; for refusing to become everything that young Kylo Ren wanted him to be.

He feels Poe’s mind instinctively resist the intrusion, throwing up barriers despite the mounting pain, and Poe tightens his lips as he manages to choke out a response.

“The Resistance… will not be intimidated by you,” Poe rasps, the final word little more than a strangled inhalation of breath as Kylo abruptly raises his pain to a level that most civilians would not be able to tolerate without passing out. It makes Poe’s face distort into something twisted-up and tormented, eyes watering and sweat pouring down his face as he grits his teeth and visibly tries with all his might to resist.

It’s only when he starts screaming that Kylo knows he truly has him.

He draws the pain out more than he normally would for this kind of interrogation, exchanges his usual brutal efficiency for something drawn-out and lingering.

He has never done anything like this before, has never once purposefully extended an assignment for reasons of his own. Neither General Hux nor anyone else should have reason to suspect that this is anything other than a difficult extraction, a Resistance fighter whose mind has been well-trained against this kind of invasion.

The cell isn’t monitored. No one else is watching.

Kylo can do whatever he wants and no one is going to stop him.

It’s beyond exhilarating to have Poe Dameron at his mercy, a thrill far greater than any other interrogation or execution he’s performed before now. Kylo toys with him a little, edging off the pain for just long enough for Poe to start being able to steel himself up again before making it all surge back again, making him _scream_. He’s always careful to keep Poe from passing out, never lets the pain get quite bad enough for him to slip away into unconsciousness.

Keeps his voice calm and indifferent even as he lashes out viciously with his mind, has to work hard to project the image of uncaring detachment that usually comes so easily during moments like these.

He makes Poe beg, and then he makes him weep. But he doesn’t drag the information out of him right away. Doesn’t tear it out of his mind with brutal efficiency because then he would have to end this, would have to leave to report the map’s location, and Kylo doesn’t want to stop. He gives into temptation and keeps breaking Poe down instead, leaves him wrung-out and slumping forward against his restraints, barely able to raise his head on his own power.  

He wants Poe pliable, wants his walls broken down.

Wants to see how far he can take him; how far he can push this man who used to fascinate him so much in another life.

To his credit, Poe holds up better than Kylo expected. He doesn’t let go of information easily, digs his heels in and visibly fights with everything he’s worth whenever Kylo tries to take something from him. Won’t give up the location of the map without a fight, something that makes Kylo feel vaguely pleased in a way he doesn’t quite understand.  

He’s also very aware that Poe never calls him by name; not once, no matter how bad the pain gets. Never refers to him by his old name in a bid for sympathy or brings it out like some kind of trump card, and Kylo isn’t sure whether that means he doesn’t know or whether he just doesn’t want to admit it out loud. He could take that information if he wanted to – but making Poe _writhe_ front of him is a powerful distraction and it’s easy enough to let the thought slip away for now.

The noises Poe makes are beyond obscene, ragged gasps and bitten-off groans as he thrashes under his hands, brought to the very edge of consciousness without Kylo ever physically laying a hand on him.

They’re the kind of sounds that Kylo used to imagine wringing out of him in a very different context. Used to think about the kind of noises Poe would make, how responsive he would be. How easily he would give in when approached, would let Ben _have_ him because he knew, he _knew_ that all Poe needed was a push in the right direction.

The pain has left Poe worn down and shuddering for breath, but Kylo is careful to make sure it’s nothing that will leave a scar or a mark. Nothing to permanently damage the way he looks. He should’ve done this _years_ ago; should’ve made a point of searching Poe Dameron out after his turn to the dark side, should’ve gone back to find him and _take_ him despite the risk. The knowledge that all of Poe’s attention is squarely focused on him right now – on how Kylo’s making him _feel_ – is heady, overwhelming. It’s almost unbearable to think about how he’s been missing out on this for so many years.

It’s only after the last of Poe’s resistance is gone – once he reaches the point where Kylo could reach out and pluck the location of the map out of his head as easy as breathing – that he begins to properly delve into Poe’s mind. He makes a soft sound of wordless protest as Kylo slips into his head but he barely notices, is too busy regretting holding off for so long, because this?

This is _intoxicating_.

All of the thoughts that Poe has kept stifled and hidden away are suddenly laid bare before him, so many possibilities that he doesn’t know where to begin. He feels an eager lurch in the pit of his stomach, revels briefly in the heavy taste of Poe’s fear on his tongue.

It’s _heaven_ to hold Poe’s mind in the palm of his hands like this, to dig invisible fingers into his memories and start pulling them apart. Overwhelming and devastating because he can take anything he wants like this. Anything at all.

And Kylo knows that he should be focusing on the map, should put aside this distraction and get back to the objective at hand. He knows that, he _knows_ – but can’t quite bring himself to do it. Can’t stop now because that would mean the end of this, would mean giving Poe up.

He wants to gorge himself instead; wants to drown in the pure, exquisite pleasure of being inside Poe Dameron’s head. He sifts through memories of recent missions and assignments, immerses himself in a particularly vivid memory of piloting an X-Wing along the icy rings of a swirling purple planet. Feels the ship humming with life around him, knows the glorious freedom that comes with being completely attuned with a machine.

And then he makes the mistake of lingering for too long on some of Poe’s older memories, the ones buried beneath the surface, and it’s – it’s too much, the irresistible temptation of it is too _much_ and Kylo doesn’t want to look but he _needs_ to, needs to see it needs to feel it needs to _know_ , and –

_— being recruited as a pilot at sixteen years old, following in his mother’s footsteps, craving the sky and too eager to learn how to be like her, how to fight for what he believes in, and –_

_— turning a corner and seeing a scrawny boy with black hair, sitting with his back to a wall in a long sterile hallway with his arms wrapped around his knees, and —_

_— falling into bed with one of his fellow pilots in training, learning what it means to be wanted and wanting someone in return, and it’s awkward at first but good and fun and they’re still friends after because why wouldn’t they be, and—_

_—  noticing ben hanging around the sidelines like a shadow sometimes when he’s not off training with his uncle luke and that’s fine because poe can see he’s lonely and ben’s a nice kid really when his temper isn’t getting the better of him, and —_

_— getting older and getting better and getting sent on missions and always working hard, always trying with everything he has and knowing people and loving people and losing people but never alone, not really, always so many people there to have his back, and —_

_— complete shock when ben grabs him by face and kisses him one day when it’s just the two of them after poe’s returned from a mission, chaste but intensely focused and when did ben get tall enough to tower over him like this and poe jerks away with wide eyes as soon as he’s able and then sees the unreadably still expression on ben’s face and shit, was that his first kiss, was that –_

_ben i’m sorry, i don’t –_

_didn’t mean to give you the impression that i –_

_you’re fifteen, you’re just a kid, i can’t –_

_—_ and then Kylo Ren is reeling backwards as though he’s been struck, feeling like he’s been slapped in the face with the raw humiliation of seeing _that memory_ through Poe Dameron’s eyes.

He draws in ragged breaths from inside the claustrophobic confines of his helmet, _forces_ himself to be calm. Darts a frantic look at Poe to make sure he isn’t looking, that he hasn’t _seen_ his reaction. 

To his relief Poe doesn’t seem to be aware of much of anything at the moment; he’s slumped in his restraints, awake but too grateful for the respite from the pain to be paying attention to anything right now, and Kylo allows himself to relax a little bit at that.

He stares at Poe as his pounding heart slowly returns to a regular pace, as he starts to feel easy inside his own skin again. The memories linger like a bad taste in his mouth, tugging at the edges of his mind with renewed vivacity after years of refusing to look at them.

Seeing himself through someone else’s eyes is disquieting enough, but seeing himself through _Poe’s_ eyes is even worse. He can still feel Poe’s half-remembered thoughts in the back of his mind, can still see the impression of his memories dancing in front of his eyes.

The way he’d thought of Ben as little more than a petulant child. As someone to be _pitied_.

It’s sickening.

Kylo thinks about how stunned Poe had been in _that_ memory, the one with the kiss, the one he’s tried so hard not to think about for years. How shocked he’d been, how _sorry_ that this stupid little kid managed to get the wrong idea –

And then, very slowly, the mortification begins to turn to anger. To _outrage_ that he was never anything more than an idle thought at the edges of Poe Dameron’s mind, that he spent _years_ watching and waiting and wanting something he didn’t have words for and all that time Poe never thought of him as anything other than a pathetic child.

It swells until it becomes fury, becomes _rage_ , because he’s more powerful than Poe, has _always_ been more powerful than Poe right from the very beginning, and –

And Kylo’s eyes refocus and his fists unclench as he stares, as he realizes that there’s sweat dripping down the side of Poe’s neck, his curls damp against his forehead after the strain of resisting so hard for so long. His eyes are open but unfocused, his lashes thick and damp. His face is slack except for a deep furrow in his brows, and the shape of his chest and arms is clearly visible beneath his sweat-soaked clothes.

And in that moment, for the very first time since he walked into the room, it really hits him.

Poe Dameron is here, and Poe Dameron is his prisoner.

He is his prisoner, and that means Kylo Ren can take what he wants.

He holds his breath when he pushes the button to remove his helmet, senses the way the soft rushing sound that accompanies its release makes Poe stir slightly in his restraints more than he actually sees it happen.

The air of the room is shockingly cool against his face as he pulls his helmet off, and as soon as it’s gone he realizes abruptly how much more _real_ Poe looks without it. Warm skin and steady breaths and that face he used to see whenever he closed his eyes in another life, and Kylo trails his eyes over Poe’s face and knows with deep certainty exactly what he wants to take from him.  

He puts the helmet down on its rest, feels exposed without it but walks slowly forward until he’s only standing a few feet away from Poe, from _his prisoner_. It’s exhilarating to do it; to be close enough to touch, and to know that Poe wouldn’t be able to stop him if he tried.

Kylo tilts his head as he stares, drinks in the sight of him. He’s very aware of his own height, how he towers over Poe like this. Still can’t quite believe how much shorter he used to be when they first met, how broad and brave and _golden_ Poe always used to seem in his eyes. 

Poe is nothing if not real in front of him now, though. Bloodied and bruised and begging to be touched, and Kylo doesn’t think he’s ever seen anything more inviting in his entire life.

He takes another step forward, takes firm hold of the headrest with one hand and crowds in close to Poe until the two of them are practically touching, until Poe’s unsteady breathing is loud and intimate in his ears.

Then Kylo reaches out slowly with one gloved hand, takes hold of Poe’s chin, and carefully tilts his head up so that he no choice but to look at him.

There’s a moment of utter silence as Poe blinks, hesitates, his eyes seeming to become more focused with each second that Kylo watches him.

Surprise and confusion flicker in Poe’s eyes, but not the kind of shock Kylo is half-expecting. Not the kind of horror he thinks would be there if Poe had known nothing about his identity beforehand. He watches as the surprise fades, slides into dull recognition full of old bitterness. As though the sight of him just serves to confirm something Poe already knew.

A contemptuous grimace curves up at the corner of Poe’s mouth, and he huffs out the tiniest of breaths. There’s something burning low and defiant in his eyes.  

“Hey, Ben,” says Poe with a slur, the words sounding thick and uneven as he speaks but not scared, not at all scared. His eyes become unfocused again for a moment but he blinks to pull himself together, works visibly hard to hold his gaze. “You gonna look at me b’fore you kill me?”

Poe doesn’t try to yank his chin out of Kylo’s grasp, doesn’t seem to have the energy to even try. He looks exhausted and wrung-out, wincing in pain but still fighting. Not broken.

Not yet.

“Don’t call me that name,” Kylo commands him in a low tone, but he’s too distracted to underscore the statement with the outrage it deserves. His voice is much softer without his helmet’s voice modulation, quieter. He stares openly, dragging his eyes over the curves of Poe’s face. Very much aware that without his helmet, Poe can tell exactly where he’s looking.

Poe snorts, his mouth twisting into a contemptuous snarl.  

“You _traitor_ ,” Poe hisses, spitting the words out as though they’re something disgusting, something _vile_. His body is still trembling in the aftermath of the torture but his eyes are shining with contempt, as though the reminder of Kylo’s defection is the worst insult he can think of. As though everything else he’s done as Kylo Ren pales in comparison to that first youthful betrayal. Poe huffs out a disgusted breath. “I didn’t want to believe it when the General told me, you –”

The mention of General Organa rankles, and Kylo tightens his grip on Poe’s chin. Wrenches his face upward to cut him off, leaning in close until they’re only inches apart.

“You should be afraid of me,” Kylo tells him truthfully. There is no anger or vindictiveness underlying the words; it’s a declaration of fact, not a threat. His eyes dart down to linger on Poe’s mouth for a moment before returning to hold his gaze again. “You should be afraid of what I can do to you. Of what I can _make_ you do.”

Uncertainty flashes in Poe’s eyes, but it’s gone again just as quickly as it appeared. Replaced by hardened conviction and defiant resignation, the look of a man who is about to throw himself in front of the firing squad.

“I was happier when I thought you were dead,” says Poe coldly, visibly bracing himself for whatever he thinks is going to come next.

Silence hangs between them for a long moment. Kylo feels his lips press into a thin line, hears the blood pounding in his ears.

Then he takes a deep breath, embraces the anger so that it flows freely through his veins. He tilts his head a little to one side, stares right back into Poe’s defiant glare.

“You don’t want to fight me,” Kylo Ren tells him with calm certainty, speaking very slowly and clearly as he stares right into Poe’s eyes. He lets himself tap into the power that’s always there just below the surface, reaching out with his mind until he slips easily and effortlessly inside Poe’s head. He feels a rush of dark satisfaction at the total lack of resistance he encounters, the walls and barriers all broken down now. His lips twitch into the ghost of a smile. “You want to kiss me like you mean it.”

Kylo watches as Poe’s eyes go unfocused and distant for a second, as he blinks in palpable confusion.

And then Poe is staring up into Kylo’s face as though it’s a revelation, as though he’s only now seeing him for the first time. He opens his mouth to parrot the command back and Kylo cuts him off with a sharp thought, can already taste the words on the tip of Poe’s tongue and doesn’t want to hear them out loud.

Poe looks at him some more, trails his eyes over Kylo’s face, his lips, and then –

And then Poe’s surging forwards as much as the restraints allow, closing the last few inches between them as he captures Kylo’s mouth in an earnest, desperate kiss.

Poe’s mouth is warm and enthusiastic against his own, responsive and eager despite his obvious exhaustion, and Kylo can’t hold back a small sound of vindication as he kisses back. He closes his eyes and revels in how perfect this is, how _right_ it feels to finally take what belongs to him. What should’ve _always_ belonged to him. He nips at Poe’s bottom lip and tastes sweat there, feels the sharp inhalation of breath as Poe gasps against his mouth.

It’s enough to make Kylo’s pulse quicken, to make desire twist viscerally in the pit of his stomach, because he loves the fact that he can _make_ Poe feel good like this. That he can leave Poe with no option except to take what he has to offer, to feel pleasure whether or not he wants to.  

He feels Poe move against him, shifting in his restraints. Kylo tenses, instinctively expecting resistance – only to realize that Poe is unconsciously arching up into the kiss, trying to get _closer_. It’s enough to make Kylo shudder, make him _groan_ at the heady realization of just how much Poe is willing to give him like this. He reaches up with a gloved hand and tangles his fingers in Poe’s curls, draws him in closer as _need_ pounds in his chest like a heartbeat.

Poe makes a pleased sound against his mouth and effortlessly deepens the kiss, slides his tongue into Kylo’s mouth in a way that’s skillful and practiced and entirely sexual.

And all at once Kylo feels a stab of sickening jealousy in the pit of his gut, a hot rush of irrational _fury_ at the thought of how many people have touched Poe Dameron before him. At all the people who have taught Poe to be so maddeningly good at this.  

 _How many people have fucked you over the years?_ Kylo thinks darkly, fuming silently as Poe continues to kiss him, completely unaware of the change in his mood. _Ten, twenty? Human, alien?_

The thought is enough to make the rest of his self-restraint dissipate.

Kylo pulls away abruptly, fury simmering just under his skin, and sends Poe crashing back into the interrogation chair with a sharp wave of his hand.

He hears Poe suck in a surprised breath but Kylo is already tugging at his gloves, throws them on the floor as soon as they’re off his hands. He swallows hard as he takes in Poe’s kiss-swollen lips, his rumpled curls. He’s painfully aware of how hard he is beneath his robes.

It isn’t about sentiment, Kylo tells himself fervently as he stares down at his prisoner. He will not go down the same path as his grandfather, _refuses_ to make the same mistake he did.

It’s about taking what he wants, giving into temptation.

It’s about enjoying the spoils of war.

“I…” says Poe, his voice trailing off as he furrows his brow. He’s looking up at Kylo as though struggling to comprehend him, as though he can’t quite wrap his mind around what just happened. “I don’t…”

There’s a pause – before Kylo reaches out with an ungloved hand, drags the backs of his bare fingers over the curve of Poe’s cheek. It’s rough with stubble but warm against his skin, and he isn’t sure which one of them shudders harder at the touch. Kylo can practically feel the Force emanating from his fingertips, tangible and real as the hot pulse of his anger guides him.

He pulls away, waits just long enough to see the flicker of understanding as Poe starts to come back to himself, to see the beginnings of slow-dawning horror in Poe’s eyes – before he reaches out a hand and very slowly begins to curl his fingers.

Kylo can pinpoint the exact moment that Poe becomes aware of it; the phantom fingers trailing slowly up his thighs, towards the curve of his ass. Can see the way Poe’s whole body stiffens, grows rigid at the sudden realization of what Kylo intends to do.

“Ben,” says Poe raggedly, as though the word has been torn from his throat. He jerks his hips away from the touch but there’s nowhere for him to go. He squirms in his restraints, breath quickening as his eyes grow wide with wordless panic. “Ben, don’t –!”

The rest of his words are cut off when Kylo Ren _thrusts_ his other hand forward in the air, ruthlessly cutting off Poe’s breathing with wicked speed.  

Poe’s head snaps back as though there’s an invisible hand around his neck, his mouth fallen open in a perfect ‘o’ as he tries to breathe air that won’t come. A ragged choking sound escapes his throat and his eyes are wider than before, practically bugging out of his head as he stares back at Kylo with actual fear in his eyes. 

“Don’t,” Kylo whispers, his voice low and dangerous as he narrows his eyes. Poe’s hands spasm fruitlessly in their manacles, as though frantic to reach up and claw at the unseen hand. “Call me.”  Poe’s face is turning red, the muscles in his neck straining and his eyes watering, _pleading_ wordlessly with him as he struggles to breathe. “That name.”

He releases his hold on Poe’s throat all at once, quietly reveling in how _desperate_ Poe is when he takes his first breath. How relieved he looks as he sags against his restraints, frantically taking one gulping breath after the other.

Kylo tilts his head as he stares openly at him, patiently taking in the sight of the object of his adolescent affections shaking visibly as he attempts to regulate his breathing.

“Do you know how the Jedi are able to induce pain in their victims?” Kylo Ren asks conversationally, his voice even and indifferent as though nothing just happened. As though his heart isn’t pounding in his ears, as though he can’t feel the burn of a flush as it crawls up the back of his neck. He feels stifled so he unhooks his cloak from where it’s draped around his neck, tosses it lazily on the floor before turning back to Poe. “Without leaving any physical marks, I mean.”

He can sense Poe regrouping, gearing up to reply with something smart – so Kylo cuts him off with a wave of his hand before he has the chance. Poe makes a muffled sound of anger and glares back at him weakly, brows furrowed and dark eyes flashing.

Kylo moves around to the side of the interrogation chair before slowly lowering himself down beside it, close enough to whisper in Poe’s ear. Poe doesn’t turn his head in response, just keeps looking pointedly straight ahead.

“It’s all in your head,” Kylo explains in a voice that’s barely more than a whisper, excruciatingly aware of the bead of sweat that’s running down the side of Poe’s neck. He’s close enough that he could reach up and touch Poe’s hair if he wanted to, could ghost his fingers over the other man’s pulse. “All of it. It’s about the mind, and how the mind processes pain. It’s not necessary to physically hurt someone when you can make them _feel_ as though they’re being hurt instead.”

He does reach out to Poe now, running his fingers through the other man’s bedraggled curls in a vaguely comforting gesture. He deliberately ignores the way Poe flinches away from his touch, leans in close to brush his lips against the shell of Poe’s ear.

“Pain isn’t the only thing I can make you feel,” Kylo Ren whispers in his ear, dragging the words out as a hint of a smile curls at the corner of his lips.

Then he closes his eyes, takes a moment to centre himself – and mentally reaches out to the part of Poe’s brain that controls pleasure.  

The effect is instantaneous.

It’s as though the moan has been physically ripped out of Poe’s throat, the sound of it loud and shocked and absolutely _obscene_ in the stillness of the room. Kylo watches hungrily as Poe throws back his head and _writhes_ , eyes blown wide and mouth open and gasping as Kylo caresses his mind over and over again.

“ _Ah_!” Poe cries, and it comes out in a strangled half-sob that makes Kylo’s toes curl inside his boots. He looks frenzied, he looks _wild,_ thrashing mindlessly against his restraints and squeezing his eyes shut as sensation washes over him. The muscles in Poe’s neck are straining the same way they were when he was choking, when he was _screaming_ in pain, and it’s just about the most erotic thing Kylo Ren has ever experienced.

He continues the mental onslaught, bites his lip as he drinks in the sight – and then very slowly and purposely brushes the invisible fingers over Poe’s entrance again. Poe’s hips spasm wildly at the touch and he slumps forward in his restraints, shuddering all over.

“Please,” Poe pants, thrashing his head and gasping hard as he feels phantom fingers press against his hole. As the waves of pleasure continue unabated, merciless and unforgiving. He opens his eyes, turns his head to the side to look at Kylo with obvious effort. There’s an imploring expression on his face, shame and desire and utter desperation combining into a rictus of tortured ecstasy.  “ _Please_.”

 _This is more effective than the torture ever was_ , Kylo reflects with heated fascination, fighting the urge to reach down and take himself in hand through his robes. He gets to his feet so that he can see better, careful never to falter as he keeps viciously stroking Poe’s mind.

He looks _wrecked_ ; he looks close.

“Don’t come until I tell you to,” Kylo Ren tells him calmly, casually – as though it’s of no consequence to him whatsoever. Poe lets out a strangled scream of pure frustration as his whole body spasms against the restraints again, arching mindlessly as the invisible fingers begin to push inside of him.

Continuously running his mind over the pleasure centres in Poe’s brain is easy, but slowly stretching him open takes a little more concentration. Kylo Ren lets his eyes drift closed, reaches out with his mind until he feels completely at one with Poe Dameron’s body. Until he’s so attuned with his muscles that he knows exactly how best to open him up, to make that resistance give way.

It’s a slow process, an increasing push of pressure and fullness that makes Poe _groan_ as he writhes, makes him bite his lip to stop from crying out again as sweat pours freely down his face. Kylo lets it build up, takes his time. Can practically _feel_ the shape and the tightness of Poe’s body around him as he’s stretched open.

Poe takes it, of course – has no choice except to ride it out. He gasps loudly as soon as Kylo begins fucking him properly, shallow at first and then _harder_ , invisible thrusts that reach deep inside and claim him in a way Kylo knows he’s never been claimed. That drag over that sensitive spot inside him in tandem with the waves of inescapable pleasure reverberating inside his head, pushing him further, driving him mad.

And Poe might be a Resistance fighter, might be golden and good and stubborn and strong – but he’s still human, still _achingly_ human, and he can’t hold out forever. He sobs against the assault, head thrown back and his thighs spread as wide as he can to accommodate the invisible fullness inside of him, _fucking_ him, his hips jerking and spasming with every thrust.

His face is screwed up with pleasure so intense it must _hurt_ , lips parted and writhing uncontrollably against his restraints. He looks beyond overwhelmed, as though he might shake apart at any moment.  

 _He looks beautiful_ , Kylo thinks, utterly enthralled at the sight of him. His breath catches in his throat as he takes it all in, hands itching with the aching need to reach out and touch.

 _He looks like **mine**_.

Kylo wants to feel the heat of Poe’s sweat-slick skin against his own, wants to know what Poe’s shudders _feel_ like beneath his hands. It’s as though he’s wound himself too tight, as though he might fall to pieces if he doesn’t get his hands on Poe right this second. Kylo _needs_ to touch him with the kind of urgency that makes his breath quicken, can’t wait any longer because all of this – making Poe squirm and scream and _beg_ without laying a hand on him – none of it is enough anymore.

He steps right into Poe’s space, reaches out towards his chest with unsteady hands as Poe continues to squirm and thrash against his restraints. He begins to slowly undo the buttons on Poe’s shirt, unable to stop his own hands from shaking.

“Tell me what it feels like,” Kylo commands in a voice that comes out more croaky than he intends it to, his breath snagging in his throat as he starts to reveal more and more of Poe’s chest. He drags his eyes up to linger on Poe’s face as it twists and strains in overwhelming pleasure, dragging his thumb furtively over a strip of Poe’s exposed skin and shuddering at the _heat_ of him, at how very _real_ he feels. 

Kylo never lets up, just keeps fucking into him with his mind hard and deep, keeps ruthlessly caressing _that spot_ in his brain as Poe endeavours to form words.  

“G-good,” Poe manages to choke out after a long pause, the word followed immediately by a mindless cry of pleasure as Kylo viciously spikes the intensity. He _sobs_ , throws his head back and squeezes his eyes shut as he tries to speak. “It’s – it’s too much, please, I can’t –!”

The words turn into a desperate-sounding whine as Poe arches into the increasing sensations, his hips twitching and jerking as Kylo keeps fucking into him. His mind stutters briefly when he feels Poe clenching hard around the invisible thickness inside of him, the shape that’s practically big enough to be Kylo’s own cock.

His hands are shaking badly now, his fingers thick and clumsy as he tries to undo the last of the buttons.

“Tell me whether anyone else has ever made you feel like this before,” Kylo demands, his throat dry and his head spinning. He finishes undoing the last button, tugs at the cream-coloured shirt with shaking hands until it’s hanging loose beneath Poe’s jacket. He can see Poe’s chest and stomach now; well-defined and flat and dusted in fine dark hair that trails down enticingly before disappearing into the waistline of his pants.

“No one,” Poe babbles, bucking his hips and shaking his head frenetically. “No one, no one – _please_!” The last word turns into a strangled scream as he thrashes against the restraints, and Kylo can see actual wetness gathering in the corners of his eyes.

He keeps his eyes fixed on Poe’s rapturous face as he slowly unbuckles the thick black belt, as he unbuttons and unzips his pants. His fingers barely brush Poe’s tented erection but the other man whimpers at the contact anyways, mindlessly rocks his hips forward in an attempt to find some kind of relief.

He cups the side of Poe’s face with one hand, firmly guiding him so that their faces are only inches apart. Poe’s eyes are still squeezed shut against the assault, his mouth trembling as he rides out wave after wave.

“Look at me,” Kylo instructs him softly, so close that he can feel the other man’s breath hot on his lips. Poe’s breathing hitches but he doesn’t open his eyes, barely seems to understand what Kylo is asking him to do. Kylo feels his mouth tighten. “ _Look at me_ ,” he says again, and this time the words seem to get through.

Poe opens his eyes and Kylo holds his gaze fiercely, drinks in the mindless desperation he sees there – the all-consuming _need_ for release. It takes almost nothing to dredge the willingness, the obedience to the forefront of Poe’s mind. As easy as stoking a fire that’s already roaring, and the smug gratification Kylo feels in response is so heady it’s staggering.  

 _He wants this_ , Kylo thinks with wild intensity, his head reeling as he runs his eyes over the sweet curves of Poe’s face. So very familiar and so long-awaited, a fantasy brought to life of his own doing. _He wants this, even if he doesn’t want to admit it._

He takes a deep breath.

“You are not going to fight me,” Kylo tells him, part reminder and part actual command, and Poe shakes his head roughly in response before all of the words are even out of his mouth. His lips are pressed together and his eyes are pleading and right now Kylo _wants_ him like he has never wanted anything before. He swallows, can’t quite bring himself to continue for a moment before finally forcing the words out. “You are going to ride me,” Kylo commands, struggling to keep the tremor from his voice, infusing the words with as much power as he can manage.

Then he reaches out with his mind, concentrates hard – and _yanks_ away every trace of the pleasure he’s been using to keep Poe Dameron on the very edge. Wrenches it all away so that there’s nothing but a gaping emptiness left, an utter lack of sensation after so long being filled past his breaking point.

He can _feel_ the way Poe’s mind and body reel from the sudden loss, can sense the aching pit of _nothing_ where there had been an endless tide of sensation only moments before. Poe lets out an animalistic _wail_ , his hips spasming uncontrollably in what must feel like agonizing emptiness after being full for so long, and then –

And then Poe’s restraints release with a loud metallic _clang_ , his wrists and ankles suddenly unbound for the first time in hours. Kylo watches as Poe sucks in a breath, as he glances briefly down at his own unchained body.

And then Poe is scrambling out of the chair and into Kylo’s arms, is grasping handfuls of Kylo’s clothes and tearing at them with a look of frenzied desperation in his eyes.

It’s unbelievable, _intoxicating_ , and he can’t hold back the urge to take Poe’s face in his hands, to lean down and claim his mouth with a kiss that’s full of teeth and tongue. Kylo is so much taller that he has to lean down considerably to kiss him and it’s strange because Poe’s presence has always loomed so much larger in his mind.

Poe doesn’t resist, tilts his head up and lets himself be kissed. Keeps shrugging off his jacket and tugging ineffectively at Kylo’s robes, seemingly attempting to undress them both at the same time.

There’s an anxiousness in Poe’s movement as he lets his shirt fall to the ground, a frenetic urgency that aches to be fulfilled. Poe makes small noises against Kylo’s mouth as they kiss, whining low and needy when Kylo briefly turns his attention to Poe’s neck. His hands scrabble at Kylo’s clothes as though he can’t stand how empty he is, as though being fucked is the only thing he needs in the world. 

 _I can take care of that,_ Kylo thinks smugly as Poe pulls away to hurriedly divest of his boots, his socks. Kylo takes the opportunity to unhurriedly remove his belt, to discard his robes on the floor; to pull off his underclothes as Poe scrambles out of his pants. He wants to smile, wants to laugh with pure satisfaction because he has him, he _has_ him, and this is finally going to happen.

Kylo Ren wears the helmet and robes to be intimidating; knows his face and physique do nothing to inspire the fear he rightly deserves, the fear he’s _earned_. Pale skin and a slender frame, so wrong and so _different_ from how he sees himself in his own head. He avoids being seen without them whenever possible, hates having his weaknesses on display for all to see.

There’s no point in feeling uncomfortable about it now, though, because Poe Dameron belongs to him. Has _always_ belonged to him whether the other man realized it or not, and there’s no point in feeling exposed when all the power here is his to begin with.

He lets the last piece of his clothing fall to the floor and looks up in time to see Poe standing naked in front of him, practically vibrating with impatient need as he waits for Kylo to be ready. He’s burnished and compact and beautiful, so _beautiful_. Solid and well-built without being too muscular, defined arms and a flat stomach and the rounded curve of his ass just visible as he shifts in place. 

The dark smear of red blood on his temple stands out vividly like this without any clothes to distract from the shock of colour but Kylo’s eyes skate over it, drinking the rest of him in. There’s a ragged scar that runs across the lower part of his abdomen, what looks like a long-healed burn that curls over his right shoulder. His chest and belly are dusted with dark hair that trails into a patch of dark curls between his legs, his cock hard and leaking and _gorgeous_ where it juts out from his body.

Kylo is barely able to take the sight of him in before Poe is pushing back into his space. He allows himself be dragged to the ground, allows Poe to push with shaking hands until Kylo is half-lying down on top of his discarded cloak, propped up on his elbows as Poe moves to climb on top of him. It’s all strangely surreal; the sight of Poe straddling him with quivering legs, how warm and solid Poe’s thighs feel as they press against the bare skin of Kylo’s sides.

A thought occurs to him, distant but persistent, but before he can open his mouth to speak Poe is already pushing two of his own fingers into his mouth. Sliding them in and out as he straddles Kylo’s lap, getting them nice and wet, and Kylo lets out a small involuntary sound of want as he _stares_.

And then Poe slides the fingers out of his mouth with a quiet _pop_ , reaches around – and sucks in a sharp breath as he pushes them easily inside.

The angle must be uncomfortable but Kylo is entranced, _captivated_ by the sight of Poe fingering himself open right on top of him. Pushing the spit inside, getting himself as wet as he can, a thousand adolescent fantasies come to life right in front of him. An idea occurs to him and he reaches out quickly to Poe’s mind, dulls the sensation just enough to make it maddening. To make it feel as though the pleasure he craves is always just out of his reach.

Beads of sweat are starting to form on Poe’s brow as he fucks himself open, his brows furrowed and his face twisted in an expression of agitated desperation at the realization that there is no relief to be had this way. He bites his lip as he pushes his fingers deeper inside, his thighs trembling.

“You know that’s not what you need,” Kylo tells him, thrumming with dark satisfaction as he leans back on his forearms. He knows that neither of them can wait much longer; his cock is so hard it hurts and he wants this, _wants_ this more than he’s ever wanted anything. Wants to know what it feels like to fuck Poe Dameron. “No one else can make you feel the way I can.”

Poe shudders as he pulls his fingers out entirely, then hesitates for the briefest of moments above him.

And then Poe’s positioning himself, lining himself up – and begins to slowly sink down onto Kylo Ren’s cock.

He has to clench his teeth at the feeling of Poe taking him inside, at the tight heat of his body as it stretches around Kylo’s cock. It’s overwhelming, _distracting_ – so much so that he has to remind himself to reach out, to caress the corners of Poe’s mind and reward him with a wave of drawn-out pleasure that grows and swells the more of him he takes.  

Poe’s mouth falls open and his head tilts back as the sensation builds, letting out a strangled groan as he slowly lowers himself down. It makes his eyes roll back in his head as soon as Kylo’s cock is fully seated inside him, and he lets out breathy little whimpers as his body twitches and spasms around the fullness inside him. Real this time, so _very_ real, hard and hot as it fills him up, makes him owned. His curls are damp against his forehead, cheeks flushed as he breathes hard.

It’s as though Poe was _made_ to do this, as though he was never meant to do anything other than be fucked by him. His body is impossibly hot as it clenches around him, as he rocks himself gently back and forth and shudders at the sensations that wash over him as a result.

An unsteady smile quirks at the corner of Kylo’s mouth as Poe reaches up to wrap a shaking hand around his own cock, giving himself an experimental stroke before hissing sharply and jerking his hand away.

“That’s not going to help,” Kylo tells him breathily, and he _loves_ this. Loves the sight of Poe Dameron squirming on top of him, too overwhelmed with how _good_ it feels to even move. He reaches up and runs his hands along Poe’s thighs, makes him gasp when he uses the leverage to thrust up shallowly into him. “Not until I tell you to,” Kylo reminds him, licking his lips as his eyes linger on Poe’s face. 

There’s a pause while the two of them stay like that, locked together and bodies drawn tight with charged tension before Poe shudders, takes an unsteady breath.

And then the muscles in his legs are tightening and squeezing as he draws himself up, uses his knees to push himself up as he begins to move.

There isn’t enough slick but that just makes it better, makes it so he knows that Poe can feel every inch of him inside. The hot, rhythmic drag of Poe’s body is obscene as he raises himself up and _devastating_ as he drives himself down, a vision of dishevelled loveliness as he fucks himself on Kylo’s cock.

It’s good, _too_ good, and it’s all Kylo can do to let his head fall back against the floor and try not to cry out. He focuses hard on reaching out with his mind, on flooding Poe’s body with a rush of all-consuming pleasure every time he takes Kylo’s cock all the way inside. Wants Poe to be even more wrecked than he is, loves the way it makes Poe drag a hand over his own face and tighten wildly around Kylo’s cock as he struggles to maintain his rhythm.

It’s engulfing, _maddening_ , the clench and tug and aching slide of Poe’s body as keeps riding him with mindless desperation, chasing after the impossible pleasure that fills him to the brim every time he sinks down onto Kylo’s cock. So perfect that it takes Kylo a while to realize just how _good_ Poe is at this; keeps up a steady pace, rolling his hips with unconscious skill even when it looks as though he’s about to shake apart.

It makes him look more like someone in one of the illicit holovids Kylo used to watch when he was younger than a real person, and he feels a rush of spiteful jealousy at the thought of exactly how Poe learned to be so good at this. He narrows his eyes, vindictively increasing the onslaught of pleasure until Poe’s hips stutter. Until his legs are quivering with effort and sweat runs down his brow, his eyes wide and unhinged-looking as he struggles to keep moving.

“No one else,” Kylo mutters under his breath, running his hands over Poe’s thighs. He clutches at Poe’s hips and uses the leverage to grind them together, to make Poe take him even deeper. Poe lets out a whimper but keeps moving, keeps taking him deep inside.

Poe is breathing heavily above him, sweat dripping down his chest as he keeps moving up and down, up and down, the clenching drag of his body utterly maddening as he drives him closer and closer to the edge. Kylo can feel heat pooling in the pit of his stomach, can feel the pressure of his impending orgasm building inside of him, sparking in his fingers.

It’s too soon, not _enough_ , and he can’t stand the thought of this being the only time he gets to have this. Wants to lock Poe up where no one else can touch him, his to own and take and fuck whenever he wants. The thought fills him with a rush of exhilaration, the idea so good he almost comes right then and there.

Poe’s movements are growing more erratic above him, dark curls plastered to his forehead. His rhythm is faltering, legs trembling hard as he stares down at Kylo with desperate, pleading eyes.

“Please,” Poe breathes, shuddering uncontrollably as he fucks himself down onto Kylo’s cock again, sweat dripping freely down the side of his face. He whimpers, desperately grinding down and clenching around him as though he doesn’t have energy for anything else left. “ _Please_!”

Kylo is close, _so_ close, right on the edge and his whole body straining, and he groans as he drags Poe down _hard_ onto his cock, thrusts up into that perfect heat over and over. Poe lets out a choked sound, slumps forward and clutches at Kylo’s chest with claw-like fingers as he thrusts up into him, riding it out and _taking_ it even now, and that’s it, that’s it, that’s _it_.

“Come _now_ ,” Kylo orders him quickly, _urgently_ , infusing the word with as much power as he can the instant before he goes over the edge.

Poe _sobs_ the second the words are out of his mouth, bucking and spasming wildly around him as the meaning of the command jolts through him. He wraps a hand around his cock and it only takes one stroke before he’s gone, coming in spurts all over his own stomach as he clenches down _hard_ on Kylo’s cock, head thrown back and mouth hanging open in a silent scream as he finally, _finally_ is allowed his release.

It turns into an unintelligible wail when Kylo latches on to the sensation and intensifies it, makes it _more_. As he fills Poe’s mind and body so full of white hot pleasure that there isn’t room for anything else, squeezing tight around the fullness inside of him as he shudders and writhes and rides it to completion.  

As he lets it wash over himself in endless, devastating waves.

It’s the frenetic clenching that sends Kylo over the edge in the end, his orgasm ripped out him so savagely it feels as though he loses something of himself. It tears through him with vicious intensity, hard and immediate and absolutely unforgiving, his control finally slipping as he clutches at Poe’s hips and _comes_ inside him with a loud groan.

Poe feels perfect around him, twitching and shuddering in a way that squeezes his cock just right as Kylo empties himself into the tight heat of his body. He’s acutely aware of the warm pulse of his release, feels another rush at the knowledge that it’s _his come_ in Poe’s ass, marking him from the inside. He hears Poe make a tiny sound when he feels the splash of his release inside, a worn-out little mewl amidst his shaky breaths, and it’s so very far from the defiance he showed when he first walked in that Kylo almost wants to _laugh_.

Instead he pushes himself up on his elbows and wraps a hand around the back of Poe’s neck, drags him into a hard kiss. Poe makes a small noise against him but doesn’t try to pull away, his mouth warm and unresisting as he lets himself be kissed. Kylo shudders through the final aftershocks of his orgasm with Poe’s lips against his, grinding up lazily into his ass as he strokes the back of Poe’s neck with his thumb.

Kylo presses a final kiss to the corner of Poe’s mouth, is finally starting to come back to himself when he registers the fact that Poe is leaning heavily against him. Sagging as though he physically can’t hold himself up anymore, as though he’s reached the very limit of what his body is capable of. His legs give out beneath him just as Kylo instinctively reaches out with the Force, holding him up and keeping him steady before he has a chance to fall over.

Poe slumps against the invisible hands, his head lolling a little to one side, and Kylo feels a stab of momentary concern before a brief scan of Poe’s mind reveals that he’s fine, he’s _fine_ , there’s nothing really wrong with him. He’s just exhausted and overwhelmed and utterly drained, and that’s okay. That’s good.

Shifting carefully, Kylo manages to extricate himself from Poe’s body without disturbing him too much. He shivers at the sensation of withdrawal before glancing up to stare at him for a long moment, hesitating.

Then, very slowly and very cautiously, Kylo reaches out with his hands and his mind and tugs Poe against him. Guides him until the two of them are lying on the floor like lovers, Kylo on his back and Poe curled up beside him with his head on his chest. Until he has Poe Dameron’s unresisting body cradled against his own, one arm wrapped around him to hold him close.

They can’t stay like this for long, Kylo knows that, and it’s only a matter of time until someone comes to check on them. He might be given a great deal of latitude within the First Order, but there are limits even for him – particularly when it comes to a matter of such great importance. Kylo is very aware of how much time he’s been in here for, of just how much longer this has lasted than a standard interrogation session. He hates the idea of anyone walking in and seeing this, seeing _them._ Knows he needs to get moving if he wants to stop that from happening. 

He stays like that for a long minute anyways, holding Poe close and listening to the quiet sound of his breathing. He reaches out with the Force as a precaution but doesn’t really need to; it’s obvious that Poe is too far gone to try anything right now, too thoroughly wrung-out to pose a credible threat. He absently strokes Poe’s curls as they lie there on the floor, stares up at the darkened ceiling and tries very hard not to think about any of this.

Then he takes a deep breath, reaches very gently out with his mind – and plucks the memory of the BB unit droid from Poe’s head as easily as carding his fingers through his hair.

Kylo doesn’t want to move but he knows that it’s necessary, can sense the first pricklings of awareness gathering at the edges of Poe’s mind and knows it needs to be done _now_. Because Poe might be exhausted but he’s also resourceful and clever and quick, and Kylo doesn’t doubt Poe’s ability to make him pay dearly for underestimating him.

“Get dressed,” Kylo commands quietly and Poe shifts on top of him immediately, starts to get to his feet with the kind of stiff movements that mean he isn’t properly back in his own head yet. His arms waver as he pushes himself up onto his feet but he obeys the order all the same, and after a moment Kylo drags himself up as well.

They get dressed in silence, Poe with fumbling fingers and faltering steps, and Kylo needs to steady him with the Force more than once to ensure that he doesn’t fall over. Poe’s eyes are unfocused and distant as he pulls on his pants, his boots. As he slides his shirt and jacket back over his shoulders, paying no attention to the smear of drying come on his belly as he buttons it up again. Kylo keeps half an eye on him as he hastily pulls on his own robes, waiting for the haze to start lifting. For the fog to begin to dissipate from Poe’s mind.

Poe starts to blink more frequently by the time he’s doing up the second to last button, brows furrowed and a small but persistent frown tugging at the corner of his mouth.

 _He’s coming back to himself_ , Kylo thinks, a flash of quiet panic jolting through him. He reaches out a hand and _pushes_ Poe back into the interrogation chair, sends him flying backwards with more urgency than is strictly necessary before he has a chance to say anything.

Poe’s back hits the chair harder than Kylo intended, his arms and legs snapping into the correct position just in time for the manacles to clamp down loudly over them again. The collision seems to startle him fully awake and Poe jerks in surprise, glancing down to look at himself a half second after his restraints are back in place. He heaves against them uselessly for a moment before his head snaps up again, before he holds Kylo’s gaze from across the room, and…

There’s a mess of emotions on Poe’s face that Kylo can’t identify, something subdued that Kylo has never seen on his face before now. His expression is oddly frozen, forehead creased and his lips slightly parted and deep lines of hurt in his face.  

It’s his eyes that stand out the most, though. They’re not flashing with anger, not burning with righteous fury; Kylo had expected that, had steeled himself for that reaction. Instead they’re shining with some kind of pent-up emotion; maybe shock, maybe sadness, maybe even humiliation. He looks hollowed-out and overfull all at once, as though there’s too much happening inside his own head for it to properly translate to his face.

Poe doesn’t say anything either, and that’s a surprise too. Kylo had half-expected him to make some kind of smart comment, to lash out with an insult now that he’s back in his own head again.

He doesn’t, though. Instead Poe just keeps staring at him, holding his gaze for a few long moments before flinching and looking away without saying anything at all. Before he redirects his attention to some random point on the wall across from him, presses his lips together and silently avoids Kylo’s eyes. 

And it’s absurd. It’s absolutely _absurd_ , because Kylo knows the location of the map now. He has exactly what he came here for, has achieved his objective despite the… distraction that this prisoner provided. Was able to take something he’s wanted for years in the process, too. There’s no reason for him to feel anything less than victorious, less than _triumphant_.

Apropos of nothing, Kylo abruptly wonders whether Poe can feel his come slowly dripping out of him by now. Trickling down his thighs, slowly seeping into his underclothes. A reminder of what happened, of what they did.

He feels uncomfortable in his own skin and he doesn’t know why, can’t figure out why Poe’s continued silence _bothers_ him so much. Why he finds it so maddening that Poe won’t look at him, stubbornly refusing to hold his gaze.

Kylo adjusts his clothes stiffly, plucks his helmet off its stands and slings it under one arm. He considers simply turning and walking out the door – but the idea is somehow unsatisfying. He hesitates, lingering.

“Thank you for your accommodation,” says Kylo after a long pause, careful to keep his voice neutral and even.

Poe keeps staring at the wall as though he hasn’t heard him and Kylo thinks hard, furiously tries to determine out what has the best chance of getting a reaction.

He decides to go with the most obvious; the most blunt.

“The information you provided us with will be very much appreciated,” Kylo says after a long pause, and feels an immediate rush of gratification when Poe’s head snaps back to look at him again.

It’s quickly drowned out by the fact that this new expression isn’t any better than the first. There is a slow-dawning horror in Poe’s eyes, his lips parting with silent realization. And Kylo can _see_ the moment he remembers having the information pulled from his mind, the moment Poe realizes just how _easy_ it was for Kylo to take it from him. That after all of his fighting and snarling and resisting, in the end he failed his mission without even putting up a fight.

His eyes are wide and glassy and Kylo needs to go, needs to get _out_ of here but still can’t quite bring himself to leave it at that. Doesn’t know what to say but can’t stand the thought of turning around and walking out without saying something else, without trying one more time to fill the uneasy silence.

Making up his mind Kylo walks up to Poe, reaches out with a gloved hand, and grips his chin tightly between his thumb and forefinger. Poe doesn’t seem to register his approach but he notices when Kylo jerks his head towards him roughly, when Kylo leans in close and _makes_ Poe turn to look at him.

It seems to work at least in part; Poe’s eyes absently flicker over to look at him, a blank expression on his face.

“I’ll be back in a few hours to collect you,” Kylo tells him after another long pause, isn’t even sure what he’s going to say until the words come out, and it might not be perfect but at least it’s something. At least it’s a different note to end on.

It’s hard to tell whether or not Poe actually hears him; his eyes slide away from Kylo’s face as soon as he’s done talking, his gaze moving back to settle on the wall again.

Regardless, it’s a problem that Kylo is going to have to deal with another time. He schools his face into an impassive expression, tells himself that it doesn’t matter, it _doesn’t_. He can deal with it once the matter of the map is dealt with.

He fleetingly thinks about kissing Poe one last time before he leaves but dismisses it as childish, finally lets go of Poe’s chin and takes a large step back.

 _There will be time for further indulgences later_ , Kylo tells himself firmly as his helmet clicks back into place, mingled excitement and apprehension twisting in the pit of his gut at the idea.

Kylo opens the doors with a wave of his hand and turns his back on Poe Dameron as he leaves, forcing himself to focus on the matter at hand. He strides out of the cell with as much self-assurance as he can muster, leaves Poe Dameron chained to the interrogation chair as he walks out into jarring brightness of the hallway.

He tries not to startle when he sees General Hux standing just outside the cell.

Hux looks impatient and irritable, as though he’s been standing there and waiting for an unreasonably long time. He raises an unimpressed eyebrow at Kylo as he approaches, lips tightening.

“It’s in a droid. A BB unit,” Kylo tells him perfunctorily as he approaches, as though there is nothing strange about the situation whatsoever, and Hux’s expression changes immediately from annoyance to keen determination.  

“Well, then,” says Hux, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth the only indicator of his true excitement. “If it’s on Jakku, we’ll soon have it.”

“I leave that to you,” Kylo says, almost startled by the harshness of his own voice. He doesn’t spend much time without his helmet off, doesn’t remember the last time he spent so much time speaking without it.

He pauses then, hesitating over how to phrase the next part.

“I will be taking over control of this prisoner effective immediately,” Kylo informs him, trying to sound as authoritative as possible without making the request seem unusual. As though this is something he does frequently rather than something he’s never even considered before. 

There is a beat. 

“Yes,” says Hux dryly, looking at Kylo with a pinched expression on his face. He raises a condescending eyebrow as he gives Kylo a once-over, raking his eyes down the length of his robes before his gaze returns to his helmet again. “I had imagined you might say that.”

There’s heat rising in Kylo’s cheeks – from embarrassment or anger, he can’t tell which, and either way he’s profoundly grateful that his helmet hides his face from view.

He refuses to glance down at himself to see what about his appearance is awry, doesn’t want to give Hux the satisfaction of looking. It occurs to him briefly that he might simply _smell_ of sex; the room had been small, after all, and the act itself had been… enthusiastic.

The thought just makes him angrier, a simmering fury that his weakness is so readily apparent. He gathers his rage around him and draws himself up to his full height, pushes his way right into Hux’s space so that he’s subtly looming over him. So that Hux can _feel_ how much he means what he’s about to say.

Hux doesn’t look intimidated but he doesn’t look disrespectful anymore either, his lips pursed together tightly as he stares up at Kylo with bitterness in his eyes.

“This prisoner belongs to me,” Kylo says in a low voice, enunciating each word slowly and clearly as he speaks. He can feel his power pulsing under his fingertips, emanating off him in waves. “I will see no harm come to him. Do you understand?”

It’s a clear threat. Hux holds his gaze.

“Quite,” Hux replies stiffly after a moment, his lip curling as Kylo turns on his heel and continues striding purposefully away. Sweeps down the hallway in a flurry of black cloak, seething furiously all the while.

He doesn’t need to explain himself to Hux, _refuses_ to degrade himself by making excuses. Kylo can enjoy the spoils of war if he wants to, doesn’t need any justification to take what he wants. He remembers what Snoke told him all those years ago; about what can be gained by giving into temptation. The thought is enough to make him gradually slow his steps.

He pauses long enough to instruct two passing Stormtroopers to go and guard the prisoner, has long maintained that it’s best to avoid putting his trust in any one individual whenever possible. The Stormtroopers acknowledge his orders and carry on to carry them out, and the sight of them hurrying off to guard what’s his makes him let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. Makes some of the tightness loosen in his chest.

When Kylo begins walking again it’s with a thoughtful slowness to his steps, and he allows himself to linger for just a moment on this new development. He casts his mind back over the last few hours as he moves.

It’s easy to skim over the uneasy moments when there are so many more pleasant memories to relive: Poe kissing him, Poe gasping with pleasure against his restraints. Poe riding him, desperate for release.

The thoughts make him swallow hard, makes wordless eagerness begin to twist and tug in the pit of his stomach as he continues down the hallway. He tries to tamp down the impatient excitement building in his chest.

 _Later_ , Kylo tells himself firmly, his lips quirking into a smile that no one can see. _There will be time for further indulgences soon enough._  

 

Two hours and twelve minutes later, Stormtrooper designation FN-2187 approaches Poe Dameron’s cell.

 

 

**the end**

 


End file.
